


Give My Soul Some Peace

by MarshmarrowSans



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: And you PROVIDE!!!, Cuddling, Deep Early Morning Talks, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, Pre-Relationship, Sans Has Issues, Sans Has Night Terrors, Sans Needs A Hug, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 20:58:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15057674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshmarrowSans/pseuds/MarshmarrowSans
Summary: You end up at IHOP at 3 in the morning.  To your surprise, you see a familiar face there at the same odd hour, looking just as tired as you are.This is probably the most 'alone together' you've ever been.





	Give My Soul Some Peace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DisasterBisexual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisasterBisexual/gifts).



> Based on a prompt by myrobotlandlord.tumblr.com and written as a gift for disasterbisexual.tumblr.com :)

3 AM in an IHOP was like another world.  It was one of those…  what did they call them?—liminal spaces.  Throughways from one space to the next.  That made sense.  If you were in an IHOP at 3 in the morning, you were probably trying to finish up whatever you were doing there pronto and be on your way home.  
  
That was the case for you.  You’d woken up with your heart pounding around 2 AM that morning, and counterintuitive as it seemed, trying to go back to bed only made it worse.  It had happened to you before, and you knew it was nothing serious, so you decided to get some fresh air and a cup of tea.  
  
You didn’t want to make the tea yourself, though.  So you drove down to IHOP.  
  
You were expecting it to be empty, or maybe for there to be one or two other people there who were drunk, stoned, or both at the same time.  
  
Instead, you found one other person there, and you knew him.  You knew him very well, in fact.  You considered him your best friend, and though he’d never said it outright, you were pretty sure he felt the same way about you.  You’d seen him drunk before, and you’d seen him high before, but he didn’t look to be either of those things tonight.  
  
Sans was just tired.  Like you.  
  
You weren’t sure if he wanted to be talked to at the moment.  
  
You leaned slowly to the aisle side of your booth to get a better look at him.  He always had creases under his eyes, but right now, they were especially accentuated.  While you knew he wasn’t under the influence of anything, he still didn’t look all there.  He had on his usual, cozy black jacket with cream-colored fluff, but underneath it he was wearing what looked to be his pajamas and a pair of cream slippers that matched his jacket-fluff.  He was staring silently and listlessly down at the table, two hands wrapped around a plain white mug with steam still rising above it.  Another mug sat near it on the table, and on his appetizer plate sat a used teabag.  He blinked a couple times in rapid succession as if coming to his senses, shook his head in a motion that either could have been to sober himself up or to check his surroundings, then closed his eyes and took a long sip from his tea.  When he put it back down, he made eye contact with you from across the room.  
  
Not wanting to disturb him, or make him feel like he had to talk to you when he wasn’t in the mood for any company, you quickly directed your eyes down to your own mug of tea, then took a long swig as if to obstruct your face.  You weren’t trying to hide from him or anything, just give him an out from acknowledging you.  
  
“hey.  i see you pretendin’ not to see me.”  
  
But apparently, he didn’t want to take that out.  
  
You sighed and wiped your lips on the back of your hand, the bottom of your mug making a soft thunk against the table when you set it down.  In the near-silent restaurant, devoid even of the noise of clinking dishes in the kitchen, it seemed deafening.  
  
“I wasn’t pretending not to see you,” you explained.  “I was giving you some space.”  
  
“eh.  the other end of the restaurant is enough space.”  He paused, staring at the wall rather than at your face and thumbing the rim of his mug.  “…  actually.  the other side of this table even would be enough space.  if you wanted to join me or somefin’.”  
  
It was almost… sad, hearing him say that in the way that he did.  He very often did what he just did—turned something that he wanted into an offer so it seemed like something you had wanted first—but his voice was softer than usual, altered by poor sleep or a complete lack thereof, and it betrayed his underlying need even more than usual.  
  
Looks like he wanted your company after all.  
  
You picked up your mug and the appetizer plate it had been resting on, and you moved across the restaurant to join him.  Each step made a bizarre sound you were unaccustomed to being able to hear.  The faux-leather material of the booth seat, too, groaned curiously when you sat on it.  
  
You too were so, undeniably, painfully obviously _alone_ together right now.  
  
“so.  what brings an angel like you to a dive like this at this hour of the night?  must be a pretty good story.”  Even with his cup raised to his mouth, you could see his familiar crooked smile around the side of the ceramic.  You knew he loved to banter, and so did you, so at this point, you were used to ignoring his obvious flirtation.  So used to it, in fact, you failed to realize just how genuine it got at times.  
  
“It’s not.  Really.  There isn’t much to tell.”  But you had nothing to hide, so you told him.  “I woke up with my heart pounding.  Couldn’t go back to sleep.  Needed some fresh air and something to get my bearings.”  
  
“mmm.”  He hummed in understanding.  “bad dream?”  
  
“I don’t know.  Could’ve been.  I didn’t remember my dream by the time I woke up.”  
  
“might be for the better.”  
  
You tilted your head to one side, inquisitive but not the least bit offended by his statement.  Still, he waved his hand dismissively and apologized.  
  
“sorry.  still sucks to wake up in a panic, or whatever it was.  is.”  
  
“No, was,” you agreed with a gentle smile.  “Talking to you is helping.”  
  
You weren’t sure why, but he decided to pick up your appetizer plate just then and hold it up to his face.  What was he doing?  Examining it?  
  
“that’s cool.  that talking to me helps.  i think most people almost pee their pants when i talk to them.”  
  
“Well, yeah, people who don’t _know_ you,” you laughed.  “I dunno, Sans.  You’re like…”  
  
You reached across the table and gave his arm a reassuring pat.  
  
“You’re like home to me at this point.”  
  
Geez.  What on earth did he see on your plate?  Or maybe smell on it?  He practically had the damn thing stuck to his face right now.  
  
“that’s a mood,” he finally mumbled out.  
  
His way with words cracked you up so suddenly you almost spat out a small sip of tea.  
  
“That’s a _mood_?” you repeated teasingly.  “Loving your best friend and having them feel like home to you is such a _mood_!”  You gave him a playful shove on the arm, the giggles only now dying out in your throat.  
  
“buh—well, it _is_!”  
  
“So is that your way of saying you feel the same way right now?”  
  
He peeked at you, slowly, over the top of the plate he was holding.  His eye lights were unusually dilated.  Somehow, it made his entire expression seem softer.  “yeah, sorta...  yeah.  it is.”  
  
“You’re sweet, no matter how you choose to express yourself.  And, um, by the way.  What are you doing with my plate?”  
  
“nothin’.”  
  
“Just breathing your hot mustard-breath on it?”  
  
“well, at least you think something about me is hot.”  
  
“That wasn’t a compliment.”  
  
“can’t a man dream?”  
  
“Oh, knock it off.”  You snatched your plate back from him with a grin to find him grinning back at you.  
  
Huh.  The tea must’ve done a good job warming him up.  His cheeks were a little red.  
  
“Anyways,” you digressed, tracing a circle around the rim of the plate with your finger, “you never did tell me how _you_ ended up here.”  You stopped tracing the plate and quirked an eyebrow at him knowingly.  “Did _you_ have a bad dream?”  
  
“psh.  if you think some big, scary made-up thing in my head is gonna mess me up so bad i wake up after two hours a’ sleep and can’t calm down enough to go back to bed…  well, you’d be absolutely right.”  
  
He tried to make light of it, but his voice wavered.  He was shaken up but, as always, didn’t know how to talk about it.  
  
“Do you…  want to talk about what you saw?” you offered gently, but before the full question was even out of your mouth, he was already shaking his head.  
  
“scary shit,” he told you simply.  
  
God, he looked so tired.  
  
You tried a different question.  “Do you have nightmares like this a lot?”  
  
As if only just remembering how fucking exhausted he was, he crumpled a little.  Then he rubbed his tired eyes with his hands and confessed, “all the time.”  
  
“…  Sans.  When was the last time you had a full night’s sleep?”  
  
“…  dunno.  awh, c’mon.  i don’t need you lookin’ at me like that.”  
  
You leaned across the table a little, your brow furrowed in concern.  “Like what?  Like I care about you?”  
  
“like i’m some kinda wounded animal.”  
  
“Hey.  There’s nothing wrong with being wounded.  There’s nothing wrong with needing help.”  You gazed at him until he finally gave in and looked back at you with those tired, tired eyes of his.  “You’re glad I’m here right now, talking it out with you.  Aren’t you?”  
  
He couldn’t lie to you.  Not with you looking at him like that.  “’course i am.  guess i’m just not used to thinkin’ that way.  yet.”  
  
Your lips turned up in a smile.  “I like the _yet._ ”  
  
“me too.”  
  
You both ran out of things to say, but it was a comfortable silence.  It wasn’t awkward to just sit there and smile at each other.  You were close enough with each other for that.  
  
Eventually, though, Sans was the one to break the silence.  
  
“hey, so.  i’m done needin’ space or whatever.  if you wanted to move over to this side of the booth.  that’s cool.”  
  
And you were sure that by “that’s cool,” he meant “please oh please come sit next to me I really really don’t want you to leave yet,” so you obliged.  And when you did, you felt his hand hook on to the crook of your arm.  
  
Damn.  He must really want you not to leave.  
  
He didn’t say anything about it, though.  He just stared straight forward and sipped from his mug until he emptied it.  
  
He seemed to completely forget the second mug.  Maybe he was too sleep-deprived.  His eyelids were drooping, as was the rest of his body in his seat.  You glanced down at where he was still loosely holding on to your arm, and without much of a second thought, you wrapped that arm around his shoulders.  He leaned gratefully into the warmth and softness of your body.  
  
His slightly sharp, moderately musky, and very familiar scent drifted to your nose.  You were pretty sure he was smelling you right now, too.  
  
“…  So…” you whispered to him as he—damn.  He was full-on _cuddling_ you right now.  “I feel like home, huh?”  
  
“y’sure do.”  He pulled his legs up beside him in the booth to get more comfortable.  
  
“Pretty sure there’s a word for that.”  
  
“heh, yeah.”  
  
Neither of you were brave enough to say it out loud, even as each of your souls screamed it to the heavens.  
  
But the two of you stayed there, motionless and comfortable, for a long, long while.  Sans fell asleep on you, first.  Soft snores turned to longer, more drawn out, more relaxed ones.  With the skeleton you cherished slumped against you and the realization that you would have to wake him up again in order to leave, you soon realized that you didn’t have it in you to go back home.  So you stayed with him there, and eventually fell asleep, yourself.  
  
And if passing out asleep together at IHOP at 3:45 in the morning, getting mistaken by management for a homeless couple kicked out on to the street for being in an interspecies relationship, and being escorted out of the restaurant together around breakfast time without a meal wasn’t love, you didn’t know what was.


End file.
